Chapter 5 - THE BADGELena Shaw did not confront Mercer.
That decision probably saved both of us.
She photographed the ledger, resealed the storage container, and told the evidence technician that the unit contained “historical business material requiring review.”
Then she drove me to a diner two towns away.
“No calls,” she said.
She removed her phone battery.
I did the same.
“Adam Mercer’s father was named Arthur.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“Arthur Mercer. County building inspector for twenty-eight years.”
The ledger said A. Mercer.
Not Adam.
Maybe we had just accused the wrong man in our heads.
“Is Arthur alive?”
“Retired. Florida.”
“Was he an inspector during Brighton?”
“Yes.”
Shaw rubbed her forehead.
“If Arthur took the money, Adam may know nothing.”
“Or he knows everything.”
“Exactly.”
That uncertainty became dangerous.
We needed to determine which Mercer we were dealing with.
Shaw quietly requested archived financial records.
Arthur Mercer had deposited $24,700 in cash six days after Miguel Santos died.
Close enough.
But then we found something worse.
Adam Mercer had been a patrol officer at the time.
He was the first officer to respond to Miguel’s accident.
The original report noted that a damaged safety harness had been collected from the site.
That harness later disappeared from evidence.
The property log bore Adam Mercer’s signature.
My hands tightened around the photocopy.
“He’s been involved since the beginning.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop saying maybe.”
“I’m a detective. Maybe keeps innocent people out of prison.”
“And sometimes it keeps guilty people free.”
She looked at me hard.
“You want revenge.”
“I want truth.”
“Right now you don’t know the difference.”
That landed harder than I wanted it to.
Because part of me did want revenge.
For Violet.
For Laura.
For sixteen years of family dinners with a man who may have arranged my wife’s death.
But Shaw was right about something.
If I let anger control me, Nathan would win.
So we built the case.
Quietly.
Travis Bell broke first.
In Missouri, confronted with Laura’s recording and financial records, he admitted that Wade Rourke paid him $10,000 to “scare” Laura by forcing her vehicle off the road.
Bell claimed he never intended to kill her.
I didn’t care.
He also said Rourke told him the job came from “a construction guy named Nate.”
Nathan.
Finally.
Police arrested Rourke in Tennessee.
He asked for a lawyer.
Caleb asked for a deal.
The walls were closing.
Then Detective Mercer disappeared.
He failed to report for duty the following morning.
His house was empty.
His service weapon was gone.
So was his passport.
That answered our question.
Adam Mercer was involved.
The police issued a statewide alert.
Nathan, however, remained free.
Prosecutors wanted stronger evidence directly tying him to Violet’s attack.
Caleb’s attorney negotiated aggressively.
Eventually Caleb gave them everything.
Nathan had called him three days before Violet’s birthday.
He wanted an envelope recovered.
“No witnesses hurt,” Nathan supposedly said.
Caleb recruited another man.
Mercer.
Not Detective Mercer himself.
Someone Mercer recommended.
Caleb entered using Nathan’s alarm code.
Violet unexpectedly returned while they were searching.
She tried to run.
Caleb grabbed her.
She fought back.
The second man struck her.
Caleb insisted he panicked when she collapsed.
“Who staged the robbery?” Shaw asked.
“Mercer told us what to move.”
There it was.
The detective hadn’t simply misread the scene.
He designed it.
A warrant was prepared for Nathan.
But when officers arrived at his house, he was gone.
His vehicle was found at the airport.
No record showed him boarding a flight.
“He’s still nearby,” I told Shaw.
“Probably.”
“Where would he go?”
She looked at me.
“You know him better.”
I thought about Nathan.
When we were boys, he had one habit whenever Dad caught him lying.
He ran to the old lake cabin.
Even as an adult.
After his divorce.
After losing Dad’s trust.
The cabin belonged to me now.
Nobody had used it in two years.
I told Shaw.
Police headed there.
The cabin was empty.
But someone had recently been inside.
Fresh food.
A wet towel.
Boot prints.
Nathan had been there.
Then Shaw found a burned photograph in the fireplace.
Most of it was destroyed.
One corner remained.
Violet.
Her school photograph.
Written across the back:
SHE KNOWS WHERE THE COPY IS.
My blood went cold.
“The letter is with police.”
Shaw shook her head.
“He may not know that.”
Then my phone rang.
Hospital.
I answered.
“Mr. Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is St. Gabriel security. Your daughter is safe, but we had an incident.”
My heart stopped.
“What incident?”
“A man attempted to enter her floor using a maintenance badge.”
“Where is he?”
“He fled.”
“Description?”
The security officer began speaking.
Male.
Forties.
Medium build.
Dark jacket.
But Violet had seen his face before he ran.
Not Nathan.
Not Caleb.
Detective Adam Mercer.
He had come to the hospital.
Which meant he wasn’t running from the case.
He was still trying to finish it.
Shaw ordered additional protection.
For the first time, I saw real fear in her eyes.
“We need you somewhere secure.”
“I’m staying with Violet.”
“That’s predictable.”
“I don’t care.”
“Mercer does.”
I looked toward the hospital entrance.
“What if Mercer isn’t the one making decisions?”
Shaw’s expression changed.
“What do you mean?”
“Nathan has lost control. Caleb’s arrested. Rourke’s arrested. Mercer’s exposed.”
“Yes.”
“So why risk entering a hospital full of cameras?”
She thought about it.
“Because he’s desperate.”
“Or because Nathan has something on him.”
Within an hour, financial investigators found it.
Adam Mercer had received payments from Nathan for years.
Not large.
Five thousand.
Eight thousand.
Twelve.
Enough to buy silence.
But the latest transaction was different.
$200,000 transferred three days earlier.
Mercer wasn’t helping Nathan out of loyalty.
Nathan had purchased him.
And men who sell themselves for money usually have a price for turning again.
We just had to make Mercer believe Nathan intended to abandon him.
Shaw used Caleb.
Through his attorney, word was deliberately leaked that Nathan had blamed “the cop” for everything.
It took six hours.
At 11:03 p.m., Mercer called.
Not police.
Me.
“Evan.”
His voice sounded exhausted.
“Adam.”
“You know.”
“Yes.”
“He’s going to kill me.”
“Nathan?”
Silence.
Then: “I can prove everything.”
“Where are you?”
“No cops.”
“That ship sailed.”
“I mean it.”
“You went to my daughter’s hospital.”
“I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
“Then why were you there?”
“To find out what she remembered.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
I heard breathing.
Traffic somewhere behind him.
Then Mercer said, “Nathan killed Laura.”
The world narrowed.
“You have proof?”
“I helped bury it.”
My jaw tightened.
“Where?”
“I’ll trade everything. Immunity.”
“I don’t control that.”
“Shaw does.”
“She doesn’t either.”
“You tell her I have the original recording.”
“What recording?”
“The night Nathan hired Rourke.”
I gripped the phone.
“Where is it?”
Mercer almost laughed.
“You think I’d tell you?”
Then he said a location.
An abandoned feed warehouse outside Richmond.
Midnight.
“Come alone.”
He disconnected.
Shaw had listened to the call.
“No.”
“That was quick.”
“You’re not going.”
“He won’t meet police.”
“He might not meet you either. It could be Nathan.”
“Then we prepare.”
She stared at me.
“This is exactly how people get killed.”
“Then don’t let me get killed.”
At 11:57 p.m., I entered the warehouse wearing a wire.
Shaw’s team waited outside the perimeter.
Mercer stepped from behind a rusted conveyor belt.
He looked destroyed.
Unshaven.
Sweating.
Gun in hand.
“Stop there.”
I stopped.
“Where’s the recording?”
He held up a small flash drive.
“Right here.”
Then another voice echoed through the warehouse.
My brother’s voice.
“I knew you’d betray me eventually, Adam.”
Mercer spun.
A gunshot exploded.
He dropped.
And Nathan stepped from the darkness.
May you like
Holding a pistol.
Pointed directly at me.
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